Our flat over the tavern wasn't large. As a five year old I slept on a day bed in the dining room. On the adjacent wall stood our Zenith floor model radio. It was taller than I was, all wood and much more impressive.

I remember my dad sitting on a stool in front of the radio, hunched over, his ear inches from the speaker, listening to the war news. My two biggest brothers were in the Navy in the Pacific. Nothing at our house was more important or sacred than the war news.

One night as I was falling asleep I stared at the radio and hoped upon hope - that the radio would somehow turn itself on. Turn itself on and announce that the war was over.

About the author:

I am a Chicago native and a semi-retired Industrial Engineer/Systems guy. I have been married to Susan for nearly 50 years. I have another poem represented above, "Owed to the Life of the Soldier". I write poetry to amuse myself and hopefully others. I love it when I read that other would-be poets say they are encouraged to write poetry by their friends. My friends encourage me not to.